


Rehearsal

by kayforpay



Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 06:49:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18405344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayforpay/pseuds/kayforpay
Summary: Your usual date nights aren't this low-key, both of you practicing at home, but it's actually really nice to just watch Chahut in her element like this.





	Rehearsal

Most date nights, you preferred taking her out somewhere nice, buying her dinner and walking home hand in hand with her. It’s a bit of a routine, but it’s nice, and you’re honestly a little sad you had to default away from it. But, Chahut has a show coming up, and you’ve been putting off practicing for your concert in a perigee, so you both have a good reason to just stay hive and practice together. Even if you’re struggling to find the inspiration to do more than pluck a few notes at a time, especially with her practicing.

She’s a side character, but she puts everything into anything she does; it’s really a wonder to watch her perform. You wish you could go to more of her shows, but you’re just not really allowed to, most of the time. You guess if they just let any lowblood off the street come in, it wouldn’t really be that much of a sacred thing, but you do want to see your matesprit doing what she does so well. You do listen to her practice her sermons, sometimes, and even if you don’t understand most of it, you love to listen to her so passionate about something.

Right now, Chahut is standing in front of the mirrored doors of the closet, reworking a step. Twist, step, clutch her heart. Her eyes peer out from under her hair and she goes back to standing upright, only to do it again, more slowly, carefully. You pluck a few notes lazily, slouched on the bed across from her. She’s mumbling the line, too, trying to place the emphasis on each word for the best effect.

“I’m just trying, I can’t do anything else.” She mumbles, and then stops. “Too much. Gotta ease up. I’m just trying. Just. No.” She stands upright again, and turns to the other side, reversing her action. “Can’t fuckin’ tell which one’s the good side. Frelli’s gotta be lyin’ to me. Good side. Gonna be in the back anyway.” She skips the twist and falls to her knees, head down. “I’m just trying, I can’t do anything else. Can’t you help me?” She lifts her head, looking at her imaginary costar.

You have no idea what the play is about, but you like watching her practice. The curves of her horns are as impressive as always; maybe more impressive, with them jutting out behind her from the angle she’s kneeling in, looking at her face to perfect her expression. She’s a gorgeous troll, and before you even fully think about what you’re doing, you find yourself sliding off the high bed to walk towards her, meeting her as she’s beginning to stand upright, a hand on her knee and her hair falling over her shoulder in a curtain.

You brush it back, smiling at her, and she smiles wider, that same calm look as ever. “You’re going to be so amazing, Chahut. You’re doing so well already.” You say, tucking her hair behind her ear to lean in and kiss her. Her teeth press against your bottom lip, but there’s no rush behind the action. This night has been completely low-key, and you’re enjoying it that way, and the way she kisses you a few more times, lightly, before standing. “You look beautiful when you do those moves. I like the last one best.” She smiles more, and her hand cups your cheek softly, cold and smooth against your skin.

“Thanks, sweet thing. You’ve got a motherfucker chillin’ out on this shit.” Her voice, when she isn’t projecting a character, is much deeper, rumbling nicely in your chest. You lean into her hand and nod. “Dunno why I keep getting these dainty ass things who don’t know their chute from a hole in the ground. Got half a mind to start talkin’ to someone about it. Lords know I’m not cut from that cloth.”

You pat the back of her hand on your cheek and snicker, looking her up and down. “What, are you telling me my matesprit isn’t a dainty troll? I’ve been lied to. Tricked. Bamboozled.” As you talk, her smile gets wider, until it’s an all-out grin on her face, and you feel lighter inside seeing it, your pusher skipping a beat. That grin is why you wanted to keep meeting her, after all. A warm smile like that, just fully happy and genuine, it caught your eye across the crowded bar, and you followed her out to get her name.

It feels like it was yesterday. You kiss her palm, and she giggles softly, bending down to kiss your cheek in return. She’s lovely. “You’re beautiful.” She’s fun. “You’re wonderful.” She makes you feel perfect. “I love you.” Her neck flushes purple, up to the edge of her paint, and you catch her off-guard with a kiss, standing up on your toes to reach her lips.

She straightens up, folding her arms under you to support you as she does, and you pull back to look at her. “You know how to make a girl blush, sweet thing.” Her voice is verging on the edge of a purr, and you slide your hands up through her hair to her horns, rubbing just the bases to push it the rest of the way there.

“Good. You’re even more beautiful when you blush, Chahut. Or when you laugh. Everything you do is stunning, darlingheart.” You say, leaning your forehead against hers while her purr stutters around little giggles, and nuzzle your nose to hers before kissing her bottom lip. “You should keep practicing. Now that you have that part down.” You kiss her again, squeeze her horns. “I want to keep watching you, too.”

Her flush only gets worse as she sets you back on the bed, and you pick up your guitar to keep lazily plucking through your newest few songs while she faces the mirror again. Her voice goes back to the soft, projected one from the play, and you hum the tune to one you’re not really finished with.

“I’m just.. Okay. An then, like..” She looks up, remembering, and sighs, settling back to her knees. “I need your help in this. I can’t… I can’t do it myself.” She pauses, and shakes her head. “No, that’s too weepy. She ain’t that weepy.” She repositions herself, clutching her chest again. “I can’t do it myself. I can’t hold all of this myself, not anymore.” She freezes, her hand lifted towards a nonexistent costar, her eyes wide and her face twisted in false agony. “Not anymore. Not anymore.” She shakes her head again. “I can’t hold all this. Not anymore.”

She gets so serious about her work, you love the passion of it. You’re passionate about your music, of course, but you can’t watch yourself focus on something as much as she focuses on everything she does in her station. Her sermons, her acting, her choir performances (though they aren’t exactly to your taste; gospel isn’t for everyone), her acting, her painting, she does everything she does because she loves to do it, and you’re consistently finding yourself in complete awe of her. The confidence and calm she has about all of her passions is amazing, your pusher thuds twice as fast just thinking about it. It’s amazing.

She’s amazing. You pull your legs up under yourself while she moves to the next scene, now reading off the script instead of from memory. This is how she practices, starting with memorizing and then going through her motions, her voice, her intonation. It’s impressive, and fun to watch, her face contorting with the dramas and comedies to keep the theme in her pan as she goes on. You want to kiss her when she pulls her upper lip up in a snarl.

Well, you want to kiss her basically all the time. You don’t think anyone would judge you for that, on seeing her, all tall and regal, gentle smiles and huge horns like that. You know it’s a low troll who measures another’s horns, but hers are really, really good. Your eyes go a little hazy watching her spin in place, reading aloud and peeking around the script to find her drink. There’s almost a red-flushed haze around her when you can just observe her like this, your lips curling on their own and your eyes trailing over her in something more and less than lust.

After a line where she tries a dramatic flourish, she looks up at you, and smiles back, a little bashful even under her paint and with her sipping her water. You look away first, back to the fretboard of your guitar, and start strumming a song. It’s not a new one, and it isn’t all that popular. It’s a love song, kind of. You wrote it when you were lonely, and tired, and a little horny, and it’s not really your style.

It is, though, Chahut’s favorite song of yours. She told you that only when you’d been dating for almost a half-sweep already, when you were laying down and she had her cheek planted on your rumblespheres and your hands in her hair. Her voice was soft and rough with sleep, and she was embarrassed about it, saying it was “so motherfuckin’ soft and sweet, made me feel somethin’ real warm up in my pusher.”

You’ve never asked if it was her favorite song before it was retroactively made about her, but you think it was. She likes slow songs like that, almost crooning, things that drag up through your pan and make you feel malleable and gentle towards everything, and you don’t have as many songs like that. You play the song, watching your fingers move over your worn frets and humming the tune to your love song.

Chahut walks to you, slow and shy, and sits at the edge of your bed, purring softly. You pause for a second to scoot to the edge of the bed, and she leans her head against your thigh while you play, her lips moving silently while you start to sing the words to it.

_My dagger, my thorn_

_A shrike-bird with horns_

_You’re deadly,_

_I’m lonely,_

_Can you make me all yours?_

You don’t enunciate as much as you should, but that seems like it would make it too loud, cover up Chahut’s little purr and break the calm that settled over the block. She still has plenty of time to rehearse, you have time to practice, and you love her. You’re in love with her.

_This dirt-colored world_

_My pusher tight-curled_

_I watched you walk in_

_A swagger and grin_

_My stitches and scars_

_Broken bones and guitars_

_You’re deadly,_

_I’m lonely,_

_A footnote in memoirs._

Chahut’s voice is barely a whisper when she joins in, but her timing is perfect, and you keep going with her, playing it out to let her sing with you. If you were more sure of your off-the-top rhyming, or more drunk, you’d try to make a new verse or two for her, specifically. You could probably rhyme her name, since the concept of her tiredly smiling at you when you pick her up from a long night of paperwork and extracurriculars and you have food, and you take her hand and everything is alright for five seconds at a time, even when it’s cold or you get rained on…

It would be hard to simplify all of the things you feel for her in just that one moment, let alone all the rest of the things you’ve felt for her in the moments leading up to and away from that one. The song ends, and you push your guitar aside to hold her hair, purring back at her.

“You sound so beautiful, Chahut.” You say, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “I love listening to you rehearse and sing. Your voice is gorgeous.”

She laughs, and stands herself up just enough to pull herself back onto the bed. “You’re extra complimentary tolight, aren’t you?” She isn’t complaining, leaning in to bump her nose against yours before closing the distance for a kiss, and you nip her bottom lip, giggling.

“I can’t help it. You’re stunning, I can hardly keep my mind off of you when you’re not home.” Kiss her again, and then kiss the faint purple flush along the edge of her paint. “Let alone when I get to watch you work. Like my own private screening, the best show I could ever hope for. I love you so much, Chahut.”

Her flush gets deeper, and you follow her paint up the cut of her jaw to kiss under her ear, humming softly. “Promise I love you more, sweet thing. Flushcrush.” Her hands slide up your back, and then back down to pull you forward, into her lap.

“Darling.” You mumble, legs settling on either side of her lap. You like exchanging pet names with her. “My sweet amenable angel-love. I’m so lucky to have you, aren’t I?” You kiss her again, and as you do, push her gently back. “I’m so loved, by someone as amazing as you, it’s more than I can handle sometimes.”

She blinks slowly, all calm and pretty in the fuzzy light of your block. “Baby, you’re gonna make a clown faint all over the place keeping on like that.” She kisses you back, hands sliding up your back to rest heavy and cool on your hips, comfortable. “Spoilin’ me, that’s what you’re up to. First you go and sing my favorite song, then you get all in your pan to be complimenting me like I went and did anything special. Spoilin’ me, I swear.”

“What about it?” You ask, pretend-upset at her. You’re smiling, though, so you guess you know why you’re not an actress the way she is. Kiss her again, sliding your hands down arms to move her hands down to your ass. “I happen to think you’re worth spoiling, gorgeous. You’re the most wonderful troll I’ve ever known.” You giggle against her lips when she squeezes you, her eyebrows waggling while she makes this strange, carnal noise in her throat, something she’s explained is a thing for clowns that you can’t take seriously even on nights you’re not feeling as playful.

She laughs with you, and you kiss the bottom curve of her smiling mouth, settling down so your sweater rolls up your thighs, and she nibbles on your bottom lip while pushing it up further, her cold hands spreading over your lower back and her claws just barely touching your skin, so careful not to hurt you that it makes you happy to be delicate. You adore her, her strength and more importantly how gentle she is despite it. Maybe because of it. She could break you in half, or shatter your pan, but all she does is bare her throat for your ineffective, mostly blunt teeth to drag over it, and you’re smitten with her because of it, along with countless other things.

Her hands finally finish the journey up to your shoulders so you can drop your sweater off the bed, and she runs her hands down your front, carefully catching her claws on the edge of your panties as they slide down your thighs. You grope her chest, kissing her again to swallow her laughs and little growly purrs, and try to remember how to unfasten her vest. At least you’re in no rush, because it’s hard to focus on anything when she has her hands on you, and you have your mouth on hers.

It’s nice to have time, no shows to run to or parties to host, just your bed and the low light and the sounds of you both breathing and moving together. She smells like sugar and blood, somehow warm even though she’s so cold to you, and she tastes a little sugary too; her drink from when she was practicing was watered down with ice, but probably cotton candy flavored. That’s her second favorite flavor, but you can’t be sure unless you took a sip, and you’re loathe to do anything but try and undress her and kiss her for now.

Her hands slide under your thighs and lift you, pushing you gently back to sit on her hips; you can’t reach her lips as easily here, but you can work on a hickey just at her collarbone, above the curve of her rumblespheres, and press yourself down against the languid, lazy rolls of her hips up against yours. It almost doesn’t do anything for you, but it’s nice in it’s own way, just another way she moves with you, and you finally get her top undone.

“Oh. That’s better.” She mumbles, rolling her shoulders and sitting up part-way to take it off. You press your fingers soothingly against the slight purplish ruts in her skin from where her top sits too tightly; it’s just the cut of it, but you have been getting her to wear it less, because it can’t be comfortable. She purrs louder, lifting her chest so you can drag your blunt claws against the little divots more easily. “Gotta get me to stop growin’ or I’m gonna carry you in my pocket all night, sugar cookie.”

You press your thumbs against her ribs, where the supportive lining presses in against her skin. Her back would hurt too much otherwise, topheavy as she is. “I don’t know. I’d like to be with you all night, I think. But it would make kissing you a little harder.” You kiss her, pulling away from the now loose hold on your hips to reach. “And I do really love doing that. I don’t know if I could sacrifice one for the other.” You kiss her again, sliding your hands up her chest to her shoulders, and give the same treatment to the little ruts there as well.

There feels like there’s so much more time tonight than usual, with neither of you needing to be anywhere and your usual date ignored. Maybe you should do this more, just spend time together without having to be out in public dealing with everyone else. It isn’t like she’s a bad cook, or bad company, anyway. She’s one of your favorite people, ever, honestly. This is a nice way to spend your mutual nights off, just enjoying each other’s company; the way her hands fit against your hips to grind you down against her just doubles down on that thought, actually.

She’s so much taller than you, larger generally, you’re surprised how well you work with her, physically, let alone the difference between being a lowblood dating a clown like you are. But she’s happy, and that’s all you care about. She’s happy, and safe, and you know now that the church would keep her that way even if she had some reason to hide from the empire; so you don’t really need to understand what it is she does there, besides plays you’re not allowed to watch and sermons you only hear because she practices with you.

Her happiness is more than enough for you. When you’ve said that to her, she’s joked that you’d have to stay with her forever, since you make her happier than nearly anything else, and you’d ignored the sharp twist in your pusher about how casually she said it, and how desperate you were to hear her say it again.

“I love you.” You say, kissing her jaw. You kiss up to the corner of her mouth, and you can feel her smiling while you cover her face in soft, adoring kisses, her eyelids and her cheeks and the slight scrunch of her nose. “I’m in love with you.”

Chahut snickers softly, her ear flushing purple under your teeth, and you press yourself down and back– you can’t really reach to grind against her, but you do your best, and she croons playfully when you do, pushing your hips back to where they actually do anything for either of you. Her bulge is sluggish as usual, not even pressing at you, but you manage to angle the grind of your nook to where you can feel her sheathe, and groan softly. You move slowly, pressing down on her and holding her wrists to keep her from moving you.

She prefers when you’re in control, and you certainly don’t hate it. You like the little rush that comes with being in control, as little as it is and only with her permission, the tiny surge of power over her letting you tell her what to do, command her. She’s so strong, but as you press yourself against her, she lets her hands fall to the bed and then holds her horns.

“You’re allowed to touch me, gorgeous.” You say, smiling down at her as she flushes harder, turning her eyes away and not moving her hands. “But I appreciate you waiting for permission, too. You’re so good for me, Chahut, I don’t even have to tell you what to do. So good for me.”

When you say that, she giggles, soft and shy sounding, her hips pressing up against yours. Your own bulge isn’t as sluggish as hers is, and twists out while she lifts her chin to bare her throat more, and you rock down against her again. You’ll have to get up to finish undressing her, you know, but you’re taking the time to just enjoy moving with her for now. There’s no rush. You lean forward, sliding your hands up her sides to adjust your position, and she croons again, ears twitching under her hair. You sit up, taking the pressure off your nook to kiss her throat, and bite just hard enough to make her gasp, right on her jugular, and when you settle back against her you feel her bulge finally waking up to slither under your ass in her pants.

You chirp at her, pulling her hands off her horns and up to your chest. “That’s my girl, gorgeous. Touch me. I want you touching me, Chahut.” You do your best to sound a little stern, and she nods, biting her lip, which tells you its working. “You’re so quiet now. I hope you won’t be later. I want to hear you, and I want my neighbors to hear how much you like what we do together. You’re blushing, it’s so cute.” She giggles again, sliding her hands down to your hips.

The difference in temperature is almost shocking when she tugs your panties down just enough to free your bulge and then wraps her hand around it. You sigh, rolling your neck and arching your hips up to grind down against her and thrust into her hand in one fluid motion. Her knees bend up behind you, and you lean your hands back on her knees to move, and she moves with you, her eyelashes fluttering over the slight glow of her eyes. You still want to ask her if she would ever use her chucklevoodoos with you like that, but it just doesn’t come up.

And who knows, maybe you’d need to take a night off afterwards. You have to plan.

You pull her other hand up from your hip and kiss her wrist, breathing out little gasps as she touches you. Her hands are soft and cold, like the rest of her, and strong, twisting carefully out of your hold and fairly lifting you to drag you upwards, until she can put her mouth on you, eyes half-lidded.

As her tongue twists around you, you lean over her to hold her horns near the bases, careful not to kneel on her hair. “Pushy. Thoughtful, though. I did tell you that you were allowed to touch me, so I can’t be uh-upset.” You mumble, moving your hips shallowly. “Chahut, do you want me to do a-anything, or..?” You drop the voice. She’s got half a smile, so she’s probably not as interested in that right now as she might have been before.

“Mm.” She hums, and then pulls your bulge back with a huff, and you can feel her purring where your heels are pressed slightly into her sides. She sounds like she’s nearly laughing when she decides on her answer, her thumb drawing circles on your thigh. “Nah. I’m havin’ a fine time down here, flushie.”

You lean back, holding yourself over her, and stroke her hair, feeling your own face heat. “I like that one. It’s really cute.” You say, and let her tug you back down. “You’re making me feel like a bad girlfriend, you know. Or at least a spoiled one.” You lean your head back, sighing a low moan, and she gropes at you. “But I guess you’re enjoying this pretty well, huh? If I was meaner I’d tease you.”

She flicks your hip, and you laugh, fluffing her hair with the hand still in it. She’s spoiling you.

You do, eventually, get around to getting her pants off, and you make it up to her (though she insists beforehand that she was perfectly happy), and because you have time and you’re already there, you make it up to her some more, but you get a little more than mental satisfaction out of it.

When you say that to her, she laughs, and you kiss her while you settle in her lap, but you both seem to keep laughing until you don’t have enough breath to keep it up. It’s a good, slow, early morning. You stumble through cleaning up only as much as you really need to, suck yourselves back in together all loose limbs and tight hugs, and just before you fall asleep, you think to ask.

“Is there any kind of matesprit allowance for plays?” You don’t lift your head from her chest, so you’re muffled, but she seems to hear you, from the thoughtful hum she makes. “We’ve been dating for a while. I want to see you acting, if I can.”

Her hand ruffles your hair, and when you do look up she’s got an excited grin, her eyes brighter than normal. “You’re so motherfuckin’ smart, Chixie. I bet I could ask about it and you’d be allowed right in. Can’t believe we never thought about that before. I bet you could come for the ones that aren’t about the church, at least. I see plenty of other trolls bring along their so-and-so’s for those ones. Long as you don’t have anything scheduled, since you’re out there being a celebrity.” She’s teasing, but gently.

“I’d cancel.” You don’t mean to sound as serious as you feel, but it happens anyway, and you take a few long seconds to try and think of a way to make it less severe. “I mean, it isn’t like I can’t reschedule if they’re asking for me. I’d rather miss a show at some gross club than miss seeing you steal the spotlight.”

Chahut’s eyes sparkle gently in the low light of the room, and she sounds congested. “Yeah, well, you better not. I’d forget all my lines thinking about how fuckin’ sweet you are to me, baby.”

**Author's Note:**

> man I love writing chixie in loving relationships. she deserves it, and chahut, golly


End file.
